


You Saw Me (without a dream in my heart)

by peechtree



Series: Comin' In (On a Wing and a Prayer) [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Asshole Bucky Barnes, Blue Moon by Glen Gray, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Did Howard Stark Flirt With Bucky and Steve?, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Post CA:TWS, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Started off themed around Blue Moon then I lost all self control, Stubborn Steve Rogers, Tony Wants to Know, and at tony specifically, and dignity, but in a funny way, except not really, i really said "canon? idk who that is."
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 17:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19024444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peechtree/pseuds/peechtree
Summary: The songs beginning is unassuming.Quietsaxophone and trombones and trumpets serving as an exposition for a song that sits on the frayed edges of his memoryhe’s so close he’s reaching and tryingso hard—he’s dancing. It feels like a rubber band hitting his brain, aSNAPand suddenly he’s in an apartment in Brooklyn with a small body entwined with his.Swaying. A shitty old phonograph spinning out Blue moon while Bucky and this small smallsmallbody spin and sway and— his feet are being stepped on and he’s so so okay with it. He wouldn’t have it any other way as they tread over the floor of their apartment.The body is Steve Rogers.





	You Saw Me (without a dream in my heart)

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is defunkitated (defunkitated.tumblr.com)   
> (i am learning how to embed)  
> (its not going well)  
> think about giving me a follow if ur enjoying any of this, i'd love to talk to yall!

Blue Moon. Glen Gray crooning Blue Moon snaps his brain back to the late 30’s. He’d been in Avengers’ custody since he’d been found next to Captain America’s bruised and battered body, resigning himself to the Widow’s swift take-down. _Cheek in the dirt, knee on back, could flip and— no. Stay down._ And even Steve— _Steve—_ hadn’t completely overridden Hydra’s hundreds of _wipe him_ ’s and _again_ ’s. 

Just planted a fog in his mind. _Who the hell is Bucky_ morphed in his mind into _I think I knew him_ into _I don’t want to be wiped again— Please no no no—._

The Avenger’s didn’t shock him. 

The feeling of confinement still settled in his bones like a common ache. Hands fastened to a chair, ankles to shin secured to the steel legs of it. James Buchanan Barnes didn’t know if his body would ever feel something other than the subtle _ache and throb_ and _just do as the handlers say._

He does think his body missed Steve though. 

—

A shorter man spoke to him in a tone that was _soft soft soft._ James Buchanan Barnes thought it… off-putting. Jarring. When was the last time someone spoke like that to him? 

_A breeze racks their tent and Bucky’s body is cold but he doesn’t care, just listens to the quiet mantra that the body around him repeats. “Of course I came for you” and “Till the end of the line”— end of the line end of the line end of the line—_

“—Sergeant Barnes?” His faint memory fled as the man’s— _Dr. Banner’s—_ call registered with him. The weapon raised his head, acknowledging the doctor. 

“Didn’t mean to startle you, you spaced out on me for a minute there. If I played some quiet music would that be. . .okay? With you, I mean? Nothing loud, I figured it’d be boring to sit around in this quiet.” 

_Go along,_ his brain screamed. But he— it didn’t seem backhanded or rigged and— honestly? He would like music. James- _the Weapon- Asset- Fist of Hy-_ he thinks he would like music. He nodded. 

Dr. Banner grinned, kind, before promising to be back within a few minutes. Charts to grab and such. 

The songs beginning is unassuming. _Quiet_ saxophone and trombones and trumpets serving as an exposition for a song that sits on the frayed edges of his memory _he’s so close he’s reaching and trying **so hard** — _he’s dancing. It feels like a rubber band hitting his brain, a _SNAP_ and suddenly he’s in an apartment in Brooklyn with a small body entwined with his. 

_Swaying. A shitty old phonograph spinning out Blue moon while Bucky and this small small **small** body spin and sway and— his feet are being stepped on and he’s so so okay with it. He wouldn’t have it any other way as they tread over the floor of their apartment. _

_The body is Steve Rogers._

_The body is holding him around the waist and whispering a, “you sap”. Bucky always chooses this record._

_The body is the body that pulled him out of Hydra in the 40’s the body is the body that pulled him out of Hydra in the 2000’s._

_Bucky always chooses Blue Moon._

_That's his memory._

_That is his memory and it’s the Captains memory. Bodies changed but the moon didn’t; it is still **blue** and the moon is still **gold.**_

**__** _They are all Bucky’s memories. He is determined to keep them this time._

—

Steve Rogers hadn’t budged from the observation room. 

“Rogers, he’s not going anywhere. If you stand in that spot any longer you’ll be all frozen again,” Natasha joked, nudging him with her shoulder. They both stared at the glass as Bruce said something to Bucky and shuffled out. 

“I know that. . . consciously but it feels like. Like as soon as I walk away they’re gonna sit him in that fucking _chair_ —” He cuts himself off with a deep breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. “How much do you think he’ll remember? From before he was taken.” 

Natasha crossed her arms but kept an eye on the glass, thinking. “I can’t. . . I have no idea. Could be everything. Could be nothing. We just don’t _know_ enough to gauge recovery.” 

Horns begin singing softly, filling their pause in the observation room. A somber smile filled Steve’s face the moment he remembered what it was. Their Blue Moon.

Bucky was shaking. _Bucky was shaking._

Steve went rigid, panicking. “Nat—” 

“I know. Let’s go,” she hurried, flying out the door and down the hall. Steve and her flew the door open, hinges shuttering. Just from where they stood they could see Bucky’s face drawn up, shaking wildly. Shaking like Steve did when he was sick. They hadn’t witnessed anything that could’ve triggered this kind of reaction, there was no change of environment except. 

Except Bruce starting music and inadvertently playing _their_ song. One of their songs. “God,” Steve murmurs (or maybe begs), rounding to look at Natasha still in the doorway. “Unlatch him.”

“Steve—” 

“I know what I’m doing.” Bucky groaned behind Steve, hands clenching and jaw working, memories _snap snap snapping_ at his brain. 

Bruce ran in, Clint and Wanda hot on his heels. Natasha looked at them, quickly bringing them up to date. “Sergeant Barnes is having an episode. Shaking but not seizing, could be he’s remembering something,” she explained, accompanied with the pained whines of Bucky and Steve’s gentle shushing, not wanting to get too close to Bucky and startling him. 

Bruce approached whilst Clint and Wanda hovered by the door. “Steve I— I _understand_ your frustration but we don’t know if we can afford to let him loose. Even within the room. This could be HYDRA conditioning getting to him.” 

“It’s _not._ This song. We played it, _so much_ —” 

“Steve, I can’t let you risk your life on a song,” Natasha announced, sounding as unyielding and set as one would expect. 

“If I let him loose then that will be my responsibility.” 

“He could kill you,” Wanda reminded. 

“So be it. We found him after all this time and if I fail him _now—_ if I’ve come this close to having my Buck again and let him concave then I’ll be just as well off as him killing me.”

Steve’s four companions traded looks, eyes darting around each other to the symphony of Bucky’s pained heaves. They turned their eyes to him, and he received the message. _Stay safe, asshole._ The door shut quickly as they shuffled out, and mere moments later the hydraulic cuffs keeping Bucky down groaned and released. 

— 

_Everything is imploding in his head. Records and sweltering summer heat and biting winters in Brooklyn. Sharing a bed in the freezing cold because they couldn’t afford heat or sleeping in torn tank tops and— “James Barnes you missed one too many shifts, we have to let you go” but he didn’t **care** because Steve made it out of this sick spell too. _

_His memories are pasting themselves together and Brooklyn is at the center, their apartment, their phonograph and their few records they saved up for, Steve’s mother’s rosary on their bedside table, **blue blue moon oh moon—**_

**__**His ankles are free. So are his wrists. His body curls in on itself without his say-so. The song is over. Bucky thinks it may be long over, or it could’ve faded out mere seconds ago.

Warm arms, _gentle because HYDRA isn’t here,_ envelope him and he tenses, years of training and instinct telling him to _get the fuck up_ scream at him but he is _tired._

“Hey Buck— I’m here. It’s Steve,” he says, sounding a bit choked. And it takes a moment. But Bucky _knows_ that voice. “It’s okay if you don’t remember but I knew you— we knew each other. Just wanted to let you know I’m not. . . attacking you. Won’t ever.” 

Bucky takes his next shaky breath and tries to assess where he is without moving from his safe place, head tucked into Steve’s collar. Steve must’ve maneuvered himself on the floor with his back against Bucky’s shackled chair, holding Bucky close like he was precious. Was he crying? Captain America might be crying on him.

“You started shaking. Bad. We thought you were remembering— _before,_ but if you weren’t or barely remember or— or anything like that I’m here Buck.” Bucky might be crying on Captain America. 

“You saved my ass a couple’a times. I still think you glanced down every damn alley you passed to see if I was picking fights with people four times my body weight. Patched up my split lips. Would skip your dates or pass on flirting with all your sure dames to make sure I wasn’t knocked around all too bad,” he paused, allowing Bucky a grace period to process.

When he resumed, he seemed calmer, spoke in a more steady whisper. “You put up with me. And I always said the same thing, every time you swaggered in to rescue me. ‘I had-” 

_Brooklyn alleys. Split lips— garbage can lids, bandages—_ “You had ‘im on the ropes.” Bucky whispered, hoarse. 

Steve’s body went rigid, his arms immediately tightened around Bucky. 

“ _Bucky—_ Fuck, I didn’t know if you’d— _My Jamie,”_ he was definitely crying. Bucky wrapped his hands around _his_ Stevie, relishing in the warmth of home. 

— 

Up in observation, the gathered Avenger’s were in various states of baffled and touched, watching a reunion unfold in front of them. The audio pick up of the whispered words between the two soldiers was faint but discernible in the silence of the observation deck. 

“That seems. . . fairly. . . romantic,” Tony observed, having joined when JARVIS alerted him of the commotion. 

“I feel intrusive,” Wanda murmured glancing at Natasha and Bruce for their thoughts. 

“It’s definitely intimate. Steve never mentioned any _romantic_ relations, and he seems open. We have to imagine how what they’ve been through would affect a reunion. This could be platonic,” The Widow reasoned, eyes unmoving from the tangled pair on the opposite side of the glass. 

They let the silence air, pondering where to go from Bucky’s Breakthrough. 

— 

If you’re Steve Rogers, then the next step was getting Bucky off of a containment room floor and onto a 21st century couch, preferably near by. 

“Buck? I know there’s a lot in your head right now but. Could I move you to the communal area?” He ventured, running soothing circles into the back of Bucky’s navy blue tee, a standard for patients, along with scrub bottoms. “I’ll keep it quiet. Don’t want you sitting on the floor.” 

He nodded, “Is it as shit as the couch we had?” 

Steve barked a laugh that sounded like a half-sob, “It feels like sitting on a cloud.” 

“I’ll allow it, I’spose,” he joked, but the tiredness in his voice forced the joke a little flat. Steve smiled anyway.

— 

Bucky walked there on his unsteady feet, much to Steve’s chagrin. 

Just as they settled down (Bucky’s head in Steve’s lap, body laying on the expanse of the couch and a blanket laid over his still shaking body) Bucky looked up at Steve. “You used to groan every time I played that song. ‘Said I was a sap and we needed more records.”

Steve drew in a sparse breath, nodding. “You _were_ being a sap. Spun me around. Held me tight and let me—” 

“Step all over my shoes. My work shoes,” they both held stares, admiring and drinking in all they were forced to miss in each other. 

“I’m not. . .the exact same Bucky. From our Brooklyn apartment. I _am_ but so much has— I’ve done so many horrible things. We went through war then I was taken and I _assassinated._ I’m not the same Bucky— Your Jamie—” 

“Stop—” 

“ _No,_ Stevie. Listen to me—” 

“I _won’t!_ You were forced to do those things, Buck. I don’t give half a shit that you’re not the exact same Bucky I knew when we couldn’t afford new socks or blankets. Do you think I haven’t changed at all? But you’re still _my Jamie._ You’re still James Buchanan. Don’t try that shit with me.” 

Bucky turned his head away from Steve’s gaze, turning his head to rest fully on Steve’s lap. Let the quiet linger for a moment, “Saying all that won’t make _this_ any easier.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Jamie.” 

— 

“Manchurian Candidate, well hello. Am I safe to enter my lounge without being rushed? What is your current aggression level, on a scale of 1-10?” Tony called, walking into the communal room followed by a very cautious Natasha and Wanda. Tony’s usual snark did little to hide the genuine nervousness in his voice. 

“I want the arm off.” He responded decisively. 

“Buck-”

“Stevie, I’m a threat. The only reason I’m not locked up is because of your complete lack of self preservation, and everyone in this room knows it. I can function without the arm just fine, and I’ll be that much less of a hazard. Besides, Starks seem to have a running streak of being lenient with me,” he said with a nudge to Steve’s side. 

“Um, _what?_ Why is Steve blushing? Steve, why are you blushing? That’s a terrifyingly vague statement.” Tony stood over the two still sitting on the couch. 

“He was fond of us. His favourites, really.” 

“Bucky, _don’t,”_ Steve pleaded. 

Tony spluttered, the dawn of horror on his face. 

“ _Anyway,_ you’re all either locking me back in that room or removing the arm. Ideally, both. I’m okay now but—. Right now, I have no intention to hurt anyone. But the Soldier is in my head. Part of me has this whole room staked out, and analyzed. Part of me knows exactly who The Widow is, and knows _you,”_ he jabbed a finger at Steve, “won’t fight if I take you down. So just take the god damn arm.” 

“It’s your body, Buck, if you want it off we’ll get it off.” 

Bucky cried. For a while. 

Natasha made tea. 

—

“ _Soldat,”_ Natasha barked, harsh and cold. 

“Natasha!” Steve said, horrified. The three of them had been sitting at the kitchen island, enjoying their newfound routine of tea with little toast triangles (one of the few foods Bucky doesn’t have to worry about keeping down) when Buck just… stopped. He ceased conversation and his eyes went empty, completely unresponsive. Shaking his shoulder had done nothing. 

“ _Gotovy podchinit'sya.”_ Buck, or rather, the Soldier, responded. He kept his eyes down but there was a new tension in his shoulders. Steve thought he might throw up. Maybe if he could’ve moved in that moment. 

“In English, _Soldat_.” She demanded. “Current mission?” 

“Nat…” 

“Ready to comply. Mission: Protect.” 

“Protect what, _soldat?_ Mission report.” 

“Protect: Operative Rogers and Associates. Mission length indefinite.”

 

“Hey Buck,” Steve choked, “we got you, you’re safe, Buck.” But he just flinched at his name. They made him _flinch_ at his _own fucking name._

Natasha carried on, a terrifying cold tone. Unyielding. “New mission. Eat your toast. Sip tea. Parameters: No weapons. No force.” 

“Confirm.” 

—

He came back to himself in quick stages, or maybe it could be called a spiral. The Soldier dropped his toast, and his left shoulder made a motion as if he’d tried to catch it with his left arm. He froze, almost like he’d forgotten the arm was removed weeks prior. They sat in tense silence, waiting for the other (or _any)_ shoe to drop. 

The shoe came in the form of a hitched breath and Bucky practically falling into Steve, metal shoulder digging into Steve’s ribs as Bucky’s right arm wraps around him. 

“‘m Sorry, Stevie, I’m so sorry, didn’t wanna scare you-” He sobbed, gripping Steve’s shirt. Natasha stayed put, Steve could only assume it was to prevent startling Bucky. She quietly spread jam over a toast triangle. 

“Buck- _Buck-_ it’s okay. Breathe with me. Do you want to walk a little? Or we can sit and have some more toast. You’re alright,” he cooed, “No ones mad at you.” 

“I don’t know what happened. I swear I’m not him. I’m _not._ Would never hurt you.” 

“I know. I know, Buck.” 

—

“I didn’t say anything about your father, Stark.” Bucky said, strolling into one of the training rooms, Tony following close behind. 

“You’re right, you _didn’t!_ You just looked at his photo and _smirked! Smirked!_ What did my father do? I have the legal right to know. I have- lawyers. Several. _On retainer.”_

Clint, Natasha, Sam, Wanda and Steve looked towards the commotion as the two entered. No one ever said the Avengers weren’t a nosy bunch. Spies and what-have-you. 

“Buck, leave the man alone. That’s his _father.”_ Steve chided. 

“No, _no!_ Tell me! Did he flirt with you? Either of you? Both? Why do you make that fucking face when you see him?” 

“Did he _flirt? Just_ flirt? Oh my dear Stark, you underestimate your fathers charm. We-” Bucky’s speech was cut off by a, frankly, impressive glare from Steve. 

Sam whistled, “Whew, thats the Captain America Is Not Only Disappointed, But Will Also Fight You look. That's how he looks at his Twitter.” 

“Oh, well. Guess we’ll talk later, Stark.” Buck grinned before running off to the locker room. 

“What the _fuck.”_

_—_

“Sooooo… I heard you had a little to say about me on Twitter last year, Stevie.” 

“I will tell the entire team where you are ticklish.” 

—

No one is surprised. Mostly. Except for the fact that, _yeah,_ they sort of _are._

Steve had often passed up team activities, even before Bucky turned himself in. He always had a ‘reason’, some convenient excuse. Anything other than ‘hey guys I’m isolating myself because I have 0 coping mechanisms’. They let it slide when he needed it. But everyone coming back from Team Dinner to see Bucky laying on his back on the couch, with Steve laying on top of him, dead asleep, is a little (read: quite) surprising. 

Steve’s head is resting on Bucky’s chest, looking more peaceful than the team has seen in- maybe ever? Buck is running his flesh hand through Steve’s hair, and using his metal one to make a shushing motion at the Avengers who had just walked in. _Blue Moon_ by Glen Gray is playing quietly. Bucky hums along, just as quiet. 

Sam gives a whats-up nod to Bucky, receiving a content little smile in return. The scene is intimate, and beautiful, and _wow,_ no one is taking in the sight of Steve sleeping well in stride. 

“Y’know, ever since the serum he gets aches in all his joints? Muscles, too. Used to try and brush it off but I lived with him when a breeze could send him flyin’, I knew he was hurting. Told him to lay his dumbass down before I tackled him in front of the Howlies, when I’d finally had it with his self sacrificing routine. He fell asleep like this, right around our little fire in the middle of some forest in France. Howlies didn’t say a word.” Buck sighed deep. 

“He doesn’t sleep. Not like he should,” Natasha agrees as she took her spot in the loveseat across from the Super Soldier Couch. Sam, Wanda, Clint, Tony, and Bruce spread themselves out across the lounge, Natasha being the only one to sit that close to the two. “How long has he been out?”

Bucky grinned, “I got no clue. A while. I should probably take him upstairs.” 

“Like… same-room upstairs? One room? Sharing a floor, type thing? Shared living space?” Clint questioned. 

Bucky’s grin only grew, “Maybe.” He scoot to sit more upright, and gently shook Steve’s shoulder. “Hey Stevie, you wanna go upstairs? There’s an actual bed and everything.” 

Steve, barely conscious, just snorted. “Yeah, okay, _Howard._ Work on your lines.” 

“I’m sorry, _WHAT THE FUCK?”_ Tony called from the kitchen. 

**Author's Note:**

> find me at defunkitated.tumblr.com !   
> comments and kudos are greatly appreciated and are great motivators!  
> this entire series is gonna be a Mix of social media and traditional style fics, bc im OP


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